


Strangers

by Meowser_Clancy



Series: Assorted Jimel AUs [9]
Category: Ghost Whisperer
Genre: Estranged, F/M, Heartbreak, Married Couple, Strangers, True Love, i didn’t have it in myself to go with grace, my tears ricochet, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-28 03:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30133530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowser_Clancy/pseuds/Meowser_Clancy
Summary: Melinda is dismayed to realize that as the years progressed, Jim feels more like a stranger. Their fight about Aiden devolved into sleeping in different rooms, and truly, things haven't been the same since Sam. Can they find their way back to each other? Takes place after season five ends. COMPLETE.
Relationships: Jim Clancy/Melinda Gordon
Series: Assorted Jimel AUs [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/503149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msmadeline_clancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmadeline_clancy/gifts).



"I didn't have it in myself to go with grace" -Taylor Swift

* * *

Melinda stared into space. There hadn't been a customer in three hours and she was beginning to consider just closing early. They were in the slow season; early November. Right after Halloween, but too early for christmas shoppers. She probably should just close up. Aiden was at Faith's this weekend; she and Jim had never told his mother that he'd been able to return, they just weren't able to, but Faith did know that Aiden was Jim's biological son.

Melinda couldn't give Faith her son back, but she could let her spend time with her grandson. Holidays were awkward with Sam, and Faith didn't visit Grandview anymore except to pick Aiden up.

Thankfully, Aiden knew enough about weird ghost habits that he never questioned that Jim was never to be called that around Faith. Melinda trusted implicitly that he would never give that secret away.

She finally walked to the shop door, flipping the sign to closed. She could stop by the market and pick up some fresh vegetables; a bottle of wine. Try to cook dinner for her and...Jim.

Was he even off tonight? Had he even told her his schedule? If he had, she couldn't remember. She pursed her lips. They didn't really talk anymore, not since their fight over Aiden. Even after they'd realized that taking his gift away was not the answer, Melinda hadn't healed from his comments. She didn't know if it was possible.

Jim seemed to sense that she wasn't feeling it, and she wasn't sure of the reason, but for the first time in their marriage, he wasn't pushing her for more. Wasn't trying to go deeper. He was backing off. He'd started sleeping in the other bedroom a few weeks ago when he'd had the night shift. "I don't want to wake you up," he'd excused it, which was bullshit. Early in their marriage her favorite part was when he'd wake her up. When their schedules were first meshing, that was sometimes the only time they got to spend together. That had been why pillow talk and bedtime was so special for them.

And now here they were. "I don't want to wake you up." Even beyond that, his two week stint of only night shifts was over, but he hadn't moved back to the bedroom.

She didn't know what to think, so she'd avoided thinking about it. Now, however, she had to. Somehow she hadn't considered that she'd be alone in the house with him when she'd said yes to Faith's last minute request.

She got in her jeep, driving to the market. She walked through the aisles in a haze, leaving with wine and an already prepared dinner. She didn't know if she'd feel like cooking after all. On that note, she grabbed a pint of ice cream too, and left for home.

Jim's truck wasn't in the driveway when she got home. She breathed easy, turned the oven on, and when it dinged she slid in her lasagna. That was a good sixty minutes to wait, so she poured a glass of wine and headed upstairs to fill the bathtub.

Jim hadn't been using the master bath lately, even. He'd been using Aiden's bathroom, what had been the guest bathroom.

She wondered how he'd explained it to Aiden. Probably that he didn't want to wake mommy up.

She took a bitter sip of wine, unable to enjoy it as the tub filled. She slid her work clothes off, and climbed into the tub, clutching her knees to her chest and considering her life.

Was this where she'd imagined herself ten years ago when she'd married Jim? Alone in a bathtub, one kid, sleeping in separate beds?

Was there even anything left to fix?

She breathed out, and looked up. To her surprise, she locked eyes with her husband. He stood in the doorway, seeming almost as surprised to see her, on hand on his cuff. He was in dress clothes, so no surgery today.

"Hey," she said, forcing herself not to cover herself. He was her husband, even if they didn't act like it anymore. She had nothing to hide.

"I didn't expect to see you home," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I had the slowest afternoon so I closed up early," she said. "Aiden is with your mom."

"Right," he said. "Well, I didn't mean to interrupt. I saw your lasagna in the oven."

"Yeah, I know it's not as good as homemade but I didn't know your schedule today," she rambled.

"Of course," he said, waving his hands. "I'll probably just make myself a salad then, get out of your way."

You aren't in my way. The words hung in the air. Melinda leaned back in the tub, forcing a smile.

"Okay then," he said, and backed away from the door.

She wondered what he'd thought, upon seeing her there. Was seeing her naked such a shock?

She felt a tear on her face, which surprised her. She'd grown so good at compartmentalizing, just shoving everything down. She didn't let herself feel anything anymore when it came to Jim.

He wasn't the man who had defeated death itself to come back to her anymore. Maybe it was the Sam in him. Maybe their marriage had just come to an inevitable stalemate.

Maybe it was time to admit defeat. They weren't special. She wasn't a princess. This was a modern fairytale, with no happy ending.

She didn't even know if she wanted him anymore. He wasn't the man she'd married. Did she want to love a new man?

They were just strangers, really. Right now, that's all they were. Sleeping in different beds, pretending to kiss when Aiden was around, carefully coordinating their schedules and life to make sure that they were never alone anymore. Separating.

They had been separating for months now, and she'd refused to recognize it.

She stepped from the tub, wine gone, water cold, toweled off before slipping into an oversized shirt. It was Jim's, she realized dully, from early in their marriage. She considered changing, not wanting to send any accidental signals, but she was too weary to care, and walked downstairs.

Jim was in the kitchen, sipping at a beer. He was still in his work clothes, and his cell phone was next to him on the counter. Face down.

She wondered if he'd found another woman. He was still an attractive man. It wasn't ridiculous.

She checked the timer, but her lasagna had some time to go, so she poured herself another glass of wine without looking at her husband once.

"You doing good?" He said casually, so blandly it pierced her armor for one striking second. That was never a question they had ever had to ask each other before. Never. They'd always been so close, and now it was like he was a distant, unwanted acquaintance who'd appeared in her kitchen uninvited.

He was supposed to be her husband. Right now he felt like anything but that. "Can't complain," she said, just as casual, taking a long sip of wine to keep her hand steady.

She wanted to be angry. She wanted to yell at him. She wanted to take this opportunity to finally tell him how much he'd hurt her. That everything he had said the night they fought was fucking bullshit. That she'd spent as many nights alone in this damn house in their damn bed as he had. She wanted to say that he hadn't said no.

He hadn't told her no when she'd challenged him, asked if he wanted a normal wife. He'd said it wasn't fair. He'd said he loved her and Aiden, but that didn't mean anything. Not anymore.

"You're off early too," she suggested, having no idea if this was early for him anymore.

"Habit," he said. "It's Friday night."

As if she needed a reminder. "The house is so quiet without Aiden," she said, inwardly wincing at the words. They'd come to this. They were officially the parents who could only talk about their kid. As soon as they were empty nesters, Jim would probably move out. So that gave her twelve more years of this silence.

She didn't know if she could handle that.

"Do you work early tomorrow?" She asked. "It's Delia's turn to work Saturday."

She carefully avoided his gaze. She wasn't even sure why she'd asked. Did she want to know? Did she want to spend time with him?

"No," he said simply. "I got the weekend off. The schedule was before my mom asked to take Aiden and it was too late to change it. I considered picking up something, but really, how often do I get a weekend." He shrugged. "So I took it."

"We're keeping the shop closed Sunday," Melinda said, her grip like a vise on her glass of wine. "We got almost no foot traffic last week so I figured I'd give us both the day off. It'll start picking back up closer to the holidays, though. It always does."

"Huh," he said.

Was she sharing or inviting?

"So we both have the weekend off."

In previous years this would have been call for celebration. This would have been hailed and planned out to the last second. They would have driven out of town to some small bed and breakfast. They would have tried to find a cabin or something. They would have at least planned on spending the weekend in bed.

There would have been a plan, at any rate. And now, it was Friday night, and this was the first time either realized, or was told.

She had no words in that moment. The timer for her lasagna dinged, and she walked to the oven blindly, setting her glass down to slide on a hot pad. She opened the oven door, waited for the steam to waft out before grabbing the small pan, and placing it on the stove top, pressing the oven's off button. She slid the mitt from the hand, and turned around, knowing she'd have to wait on the lasagna.

A gasp escaped from her throat, and her arms went up instinctively in front of her.

Jim was there. Right there. Closer than he had been in months. She stared up at her husband, seeing only Jim's face, no trace of Sam. He saw her too, looked at her, really looked at her. At the way her arms had jumped up to protect herself.

His hands touched her hands. His hands pressed til hers lowered, falling to her sides. His hands gripped her shoulders. Her lips parted, and she stared up at him, eyes luminous.

She wanted this. She had repressed it, deep inside her, but it had been eating away at her, and there was no way to deny it here and now. She wanted her husband to kiss her.

His thumbs traced circles on her shoulders. His lips started to move. She waited for his head to bend, for their lips to meet. Her eyes drifted close.

"What happened to us?" He said, dropping his hands at his sides. "Are we really so old and boring?"

There was a joking tone to his voice. "Or is it just me?" He said. "You look the same as ever, I must be the old one."

"Uh huh," she said, in a strangled voice. That was all it had been. He was looking at her. Hadn't wanted to kiss her. Of course not.

"We used to have a plan for a weekend alone, but I guess it's doomed to happen to all married couples," he said, grabbing another beer from the fridge. "We are officially lame."

"Yeah," she said, unable to say anything else. She knew her lasagna was behind her, still cooling, and her wine glass was waiting for a refill, but she knew if she was in the same room as him she would cry.

Fuck. She was going to cry regardless.

She just didn't want him to see.

She left the room, tears blinding her eyes. Jim called something about the lasagna. She managed to call back that she was just going upstairs for a second.

She made it to Aiden's room, her heart aching because her son was away this weekend. Her son who loved her. Her son who would have hugged her in this moment, in the way his dad had once.

She walked to his closet, stepped inside, sank down to the floor, and started to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave-Taylor Swift

* * *

For the first few minutes, she was waiting for Jim. She was. It was just a fact. As the tears streamed down her face, she stayed tense, waiting to hear the creak of his footsteps on the stairs. She knew he wouldn't find her. This would be the last place he'd go. But. Maybe. Just maybe. He'd look for her. He'd wonder where she was. He'd call her name.

When she heard the stairs creak, her heart jumped into her throat, and she lost the ability to breathe. The tears halted, and she waited to hear her name called. She waited to hear the footsteps go room to room.

She could hear them. He'd reached the top of the stairs; they were louder now. He was walking into one of the rooms and…

The bath was on. He'd turn on the bath.

Of course.

Melinda rose after the water had been running for enough time that she was sure he was in the shower and not still undressing. She walked downstairs, limbs stiff and cramped from having been huddled on a closet floor. Her lasagna was cold, but she sat down at the table, eating bite after bite without tasting one flavor.

* * *

Jim stood in the shower, letting the water run over him. He couldn't move, he felt like his body was frozen. He was stuck in another moment, back in the kitchen. He'd touched her.

He'd touched Melinda. He'd moved closer to her, and she'd tensed up, put her arms up to protect herself. He had never seen Melinda look at him that way, with such fear.

She hated him. That was the only answer.

He couldn't blame her. Their marriage had just begun to dissolve and Jim no longer knew how to fix it. That was Jim's thing. He had always been able to make her smile, to fix things, to just take Melinda to a moment where nothing hurt, where everything was okay.

Not anymore. She didn't smile when she saw him. She absently kissed his cheek if Aiden was around, but that was it.

And there in the kitchen, it had almost seemed like she wanted to spend time with him. It almost seemed like there was a chance. So he'd moved in, the ache in his heart had been too big to ignore. He wanted to touch his wife, he wanted to hold her. Holding back wasn't an option, not anymore.

And she'd frozen, arms up between them to keep him away. He'd felt like he'd been stabbed in the heart. Her eyes had been so wide, so full of hurt.

So he'd played it off. Of course he'd played it off. He'd been sleeping in a separate bed for weeks and she hadn't said one thing. She hadn't gotten angry. She hadn't been sad. He'd gone into their bedroom every night, waiting to see if she'd stayed up for him. He'd gone to see if she cared.

She didn't. Hadn't said a single word. Hadn't looked betrayed at breakfast. She'd just kept up her careful avoidance of him.

And here they were, faced with a weekend together.

"We are officially lame."

The words he'd spoken in the kitchen came back to bite him. How had it come to this? Two strangers living in the same house.

He braced his hands against the shower wall, realizing that there were angry tears streaming down his face, mixing with the water. What was he doing here, really? He was going to just let this happen?

She'd left the kitchen, she'd left him in disgust after he'd touched her. He couldn't blame her, right? Not after what he'd said. Not after that night they'd fought about Aiden.

He hadn't taken his words back. Maybe in the moment he'd meant them. Maybe in the moment he'd been too hurt, too angry himself.

And now it was too late. Now they carried meaning far beyond a moment of anger and fear.

Now they were an ultimatum.

She didn't want him anymore. She didn't want him in her house. She only loved Aiden, she could do with her husband.

And he couldn't blame her. He pounded his hand against the shower wall, trying to process, trying to get past this, trying to breathe so that when he got out he could face his wife without breaking down.

* * *

Melinda was in the kitchen when he walked back down in pajama pants and a t-shirt. She was picking at a nearly whole lasagna, really just moving pieces around with her fork.

"Good?" He said, forcing his voice to remain steady as he grabbed a glass from the cupboard. He'd just get some water, go back upstairs, and stay in the guest room. Leave her alone. Give her the space she deserved.

She lifted one shoulder in response, not meeting his gaze.

He hated himself for that moment earlier. Things had been normal, she'd been getting alone, she'd been friendly even, and he'd ruined it. Like he ruined everything.

"Good," he replied, listening to the water glass fill. That's all he had to do. Fill up his cup and leave. She wouldn't miss him. He'd spent almost a month sleeping in another room and she hadn't said one word.

He braced himself, pressing his eyes closed, trying to focus. He just had to leave this kitchen without saying anything.

"What happened to us?"

The words hung in the air. He couldn't breathe.

"When did we get so typical?"

He inhaled, exhaled, kept it steady. "It's inevitable, right?" He said, turning around to face his wife. She'd pushed away her lasagna, and, without thinking, he took her fork, grabbed a bite.

She was looking at him, so closely that Jim almost choked on the lasagna. "You're right," he said. "Not as good as mine."

Truly, he hadn't tasted it at all.

"Sleep well," he said finally, after another moment had gone by without Melinda saying anything.

"You're still sleeping in the guest room?"

The words came after he'd stepped out of the kitchen, after he was down the hallway, uttered so quietly he knew she hadn't meant for him to hear.

But he had.

He swung around, and she startled.

"Yeah," he said. "Unless you don't want me to."

They were at least six feet apart. Jim didn't know what to do. Should he step closer? What did her question mean?

"No," she said. "That's a choice you made for yourself without consulting me." She stood up, placing the barely eaten lasagna into the refrigerator, and turned to face him. "So shouldn't coming back be another choice you make without asking me first? It's not like my feelings matter in this relationship."

"It's always about you," he said, and her eyes snapped to meet his. "It's your feelings. It's you got hurt. What about me, Melinda? I'm not allowed to hurt? You didn't say one goddamn word to me when I moved down the hall."

"So was it supposed to be a test?" She asked, throwing her hands up. "You move out and I'm supposed to start kicking and screaming? I'm not going to fight to keep you if you don't want to be here in the first place. What the fuck sense does that make."

He felt frozen. He didn't know what to say, and her words spun around in his head. " _I'm not going to fight to keep you if you don't want to be here in the first place."_

"Fine," he said. "Throughout our marriage I always made the first move. I apologized first, I admitted I was wrong, I didn't give a shit about being right or keeping my pride because all I wanted was you. But I'm done with that. You don't want me either, Melinda. The past month, I tried to give you space. I tried to make it easier on you because I know you're angry with me. But you can't even talk to me. You've avoided me at every moment."

"Giving me space?" She said. "That's literally code for just staying away, or you know, avoiding like you just said. Don't fucking tell me that you were being a big hero by leaving me alone." Her voice broke. "That was the first night we didn't sleep in the same bed since you died."

Since you died.

Since you died.

He'd come back to her, though. Surely that was enough.

His hands fell at his side. "Fine," he said. "You win. I died. It's all my fucking fault for getting shot helping your stupid friend with her stupid ghost. It's my fault for moving heaven and earth to come back to you. It's never enough, you know?"

He threw his hands up in the air, stepping towards her. "It's never enough. I came back to you."

"I didn't ask you to," she sobbed. "I didn't ask you to. I wanted you to move on. And then I went through months of torture trying to see if you were inside Sam, if you were still there, but you know what? There is so much Sam in you. There is so much disbelief." She shook her head. "You didn't tell me no. I said you wanted a normal wife. You didn't tell me no."

"Maybe because I do," he said. "But not in the way that you think. I don't want a wife who can't see ghosts, no. But I want a wife who will for once in her life, for once in our marriage, put me first. Before ghosts, before our son, before Eli, before Rick or Ned or Delia. Before any random person who walks in here needing help. Put me first."

He left the room, unable to say anything else. He couldn't believe what he'd just said to her, when he barely meant any of it. All of the anger, all of the hurt. It had all boiled over. And he was right, wasn't he. She'd never prioritized him. He'd put so much of himself into this, just begging her to make it work, and whatever ghost she was dealing with always came first.

When there had been a bomb threat, who had she clung to? Eli. When it was their anniversary and ghost shit happened? She dropped everything to take care of it. When their son's life was threatened? All she could focus on was her own life.

Jim made it upstairs, sat on the edge of the guest bed, sitting there with his head in his hands, shaking with emotion.

It was over, wasn't it? Ten years in, and there was nothing left, nothing to show.


	3. Chapter 3

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? - Taylor Swift

* * *

Jim didn't think he'd even sleep, but he started awake at 2 a.m., and found himself staring at the ceiling. He got up, pulled on pajama pants, and walked to the bathroom before going downstairs. He wondered if there had been a sound, if there was a reason he was awake.

Maybe Melinda had had a nightmare. He paused on his way down the stairs, but continued downward rather than going to check on her. He didn't know what to say.

He made it to the kitchen, filled yet another cup of water, and drained it, staring around him at the empty kitchen. He turned around, and started back for the stairs, but he glanced into the living room, and stopped short.

Melinda was on the couch, curled up in his shirt, blanket barely covering her silky legs.

Jim didn't even think about it. Yes, they'd just had a huge fight. But he still wasn't going to leave her on the damn couch. He walked over, gently sliding his arms under her legs, and swinging her into his arms. She moaned in her sleep, moving closer to him.

Jim walked up the stairs, the extra weight barely noticeable. His wife was a foot shorter than he, and he'd never had trouble lifting her, least of all now. He lay her in the bed, pulled the covers up, and turned to go.

"Jim."

He turned back to face her at the sound of his name, but she wasn't awake; merely calling out in her sleep, and he sighed.

"Don't leave me," she whimpered, kicking at the sheets. "Please don't leave me."

He didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. He had no idea what she'd be dreaming that she'd say that, after the fight they'd had, but he knew he couldn't just leave her in a nightmare, so he sighed, walking forward.

He carefully sank down on the bed next to her, reaching one hand out to touch her face. "Mel," he said, gently caressing her cheek. His thumb skated over her lip, without even meaning to, and Jim swallowed. "Mel," he repeated, moving his hand deliberately down to her shoulder. Much less dangerous there. "You're dreaming."

She gasped, her eyes snapping open. "Jim?" She asked, confusion in her tone. She sat bolt right up in bed, glancing around her in bewilderment.

"You fell asleep on the couch, I brought you upstairs," he said. "I didn't want you to get a sore neck, and then you were having a dream."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't worry about it," he said, starting to stand up, but her hand shot out, landing on his thigh.

"No," she said, looking right at him. "I'm sorry. And you're right. I took you for granted."

"I'm sorry too," he said simply. "I didn't mean what I said, of course you have a whole life. I can't expect to be first."

He smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We're fine," he assured her, and stood up. Melinda stared at him, and he wondered if she'd stop him.

"Why don't we talk about this in the morning?" He offered. "Figure out what our next steps are."

"What, like separation?" She asked, staring at him, eyes so wide.

"I don't know," he said. "I really don't. But it's obvious what we're doing isn't working."

She shook her head. "Right. So we just stop trying."

"That's not what I said," he said. "I've tried so hard, Mel. I've tried to be the man for you, I've tried to be everything for you."

"You can't be everything," she said, still shaking her head, again unable to meet his gaze. "That's not how marriage works. We can't be two halves of a whole, Jim. We need to be whole ourselves."

"Right, and that sounds smart, and true, but that's easier said than done," he began.

"So you're just out of tries?" She asked, rising up on the bed. "I just need to know. If you're just done, say that, and we never have to talk about this again. I want to try, Jim. I can't let you go like this, not without trying. I thought I could, I convinced myself that we were as good as gone, but I can't do that. But if that's what you want…"

Jim couldn't speak. What he wanted? When was the last time she'd asked what he'd wanted? When she'd asked without resenting him for vocalizing it?

"Or is that it?" She whispered, falling back onto the bed. "I know, Jim. I know that my gift makes everything different. I've felt that my entire life. I just thought that you were the one person who could love me for it, not in spite of."

"We thought a lot of things," Jim said.

She nodded. "Yeah," she said. "We really did."

He scraped his hand over his face, wondering what to do now. He didn't want this, he didn't want to hurt her, or to leave her. He didn't want to restart his life. He wanted Melinda. He'd always wanted Melinda. But for at least the past year, she hadn't been in his life. She'd been Eli's, she'd been the ghost's, she'd been Aiden's, or even Delia's and Ned's.

"Of course I still want you," he finally said, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "But you haven't been mine in so long. And I know, I can't be selfish, I know I don't own you, but fuck, Melinda. You've spent more time with Eli this past year."

"I don't know how that happened," she said, voice raw. "I really don't. It wasn't on purpose."

"I know," he said. "We just grew apart. That's what people do."

"Yeah, but we aren't just people," she whispered, shoving the covers away, and standing up. "You came back to me, Jim."

He remembered her words earlier about Sam, and he didn't know what to say. How much of Jim had even come back? And why was this ever a doubt he'd have in his mind?

"I tried," he said, lifting one shoulder, and Melinda shook her head. There were tears in her eyes now, unshed.

"Those months were the worst of my life," she whispered. "I wanted to just be done. I didn't think I could keep going, I didn't think it would ever happen. And then you came back to me." A sob escaped, and she pressed her shaking lips together. "And we were happy, but Jim, it's not as simple as that. I lived without you. For months. I was grieving but I also had to process that maybe you were back. I don't know, Jim. I just don't know how to explain it but it left a huge scar. Even when we married again, even when Aiden came, I had been through you dying."

"I know," he said. "And I live with that every day. People call me Sam at work. People think I'm Dr. Lucas. Do you think I don't see the stares when we're in town? I'm thought of as this interloper, this carpenter that moved in on Jim Clancy's widow. I can't see my old friends, I can't talk to Tim like we used to when we see him at Delia's. I can't talk to my mom." His voice broke. "I can't talk to my mom, Melinda. She's been through so much. She lost Dan, my dad, she lost me. But that was fine, because I had you. We were enough. You, me, and Aiden. But then I lost even you."

She stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest, over his heart. "You still have me," she whispered. "If you want me. Yes, I know things are different. And I was so angry, so scared. But I want you in my life, Jim. I need you here."

His hand covered hers, keeping it over his heart. He gently entwined their fingers, raised her hand to his mouth to press a kiss to her fingers.

She closed her eyes, as if trying to memorize this moment.

Jim had never felt such a pull to her, but he'd never been so hesitant, so afraid. They couldn't fix this with sex.

But when her eyes opened, there was a plain need in them, and Jim's resolve quaked. He wanted to make love to his wife. He wanted to show her all of the things he hadn't been able to this past month. He just wanted to show her that things weren't done, that maybe, just maybe, they had a chance.

She moved closer, her hands gently winding around his neck. She gazed up at him, eyes wide. "Jim," she whispered.

"Mel," he said in return, his hands coming to settle on her waist. He was touching her, as he had earlier. He'd wanted to kiss her then. He wondered if she'd wanted the same. "Did you want me to kiss you earlier?" He said, the words escaping. "In the kitchen, when I got close."

"Yes," she said simply, eyes dipping to his lips, and then back up to meet his eyes. "I did. I was destroyed when you didn't."

"I thought you didn't want me to," he said, his hand coming up to tangle in her hair. "You looked so freaked out."

"I was surprised," she whispered. "You hadn't come near me in months. And I wanted it so badly. I don't think I presented right."

His hand wound in her hair, coming up to grasp her neck, and tilt her head back, his other hand coming to cup her cheek. "Mel, I-I don't want to do this the wrong way," he said. "I want to fix this."

She nodded, her lips parting. "Me too," she said. "And the right way to start healing this is to make up. Like we always did. Together."

"Yeah, I think that resulted in a lot of unfinished conversations," he whispered, still hesitating, but there was nothing he wanted more than just to kiss her right now. Pretend that things could be okay.

"Was that so bad?" She asked. "It ended a lot of fights."

"It did," he said, stepping forward again. He could feel her body heat now, feel her pressed near him.

"I'm not trying to use this as a shortcut," she breathed. "I'm not trying to skip any of the process but I think right now, this is going to be what we find most helpful."

"What is this exactly?" He asked, edging even closer.

"Connection," she breathed. "It's us being together, healing each other. Healing ourselves."

"I want to," he said, hand continuing to curl in her hair.

He leaned down, rest his forehead against hers. Their breaths mingled, and he knew he was moments away from giving in.

"I love you," he said, letting the words rest between them. "Before we do this, I have to say that."

Her eyes filled with tears, and he felt them on his cheeks. "I love you too," she whispered. "I do. And I need this to work for us because otherwise I don't know what love is."

"Love is this," he said, and finally pressed his lips to hers.


	4. Chapter 4

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed - Taylor Swift

* * *

Melinda was already clinging to him, and she felt like it had been years since he'd touched her. She knew that she was still crying, that the tears remained on her cheeks, but she didn't care. All that mattered was that they still had a chance. They still had time to make this right.

She kissed him back as passionately as he kissed her, and wished that there was something closer than skin to skin. He was shirtless, he'd been standing there in her bedroom half naked, and it had taken everything in her to not touch him before now. She hadn't seen him like this in so long, and the sight of his abs, his arms, made her weak for her husband all over again, especially since she hadn't touched him in so long.

On tiptoes, she wound her arms around his neck, and Jim grunting, straightened, his arms tight around her waist. Her feet left the ground, and Jim was holding her to him, kissing her like this was his only way to breathe.

She knew how he felt. This was more important that breath right now.

She swung her legs up, wrapping them around his waist, and Jim's hands came to clasp her ass, hold her tight, cup it, slap it. She gasped at the touch, pulling away to stare at him. He held tighter, and she couldn't help but smile. His gaze was intent on her face, and she saw relief in his eyes when he kissed her again.

He'd been nervous. Nervous about touching her. Nervous about what she'd like. He shouldn't have worried, though. He'd long ago memorized her hot spots, memorized what would make her the most crazy. He knew her body as well as his own, and his fingers could make her come. Every. Single. Time.

She gasped again when his hands impatiently shoved the shirt up, returning to grasp her now bare ass. He'd always loved her ass, and she'd always relished the way he played with it, appreciated it. Growing up in the 90s and 2000s, big butts were not in style. To have someone who loved it and lusted after it and always had? It meant something.

He was lying her on the bed now, on her back, and she left her legs spread when he briefly rose up to reposition, and she saw his face as he looked down at her.

"Fuck," he whispered. "I forgot how good this is. I forgot how beautiful you are. I forgot, and I told myself I didn't care, but fuck, Melinda."

His hands traced reverently over her thighs, and then he was pulling the shirt over her head, and she lost her own breath when he started sucking at her breasts, cupping them, tugging at her nipples until she wanted to scream his name. He'd always known how to best do that, he could make her nipples sensitive just by brushing against her. His thumbs flicked over them, and Melinda truly didn't know how to process how good this felt. Her brain felt like it was short circuiting, on overload with pleasure, but she knew one thing.

She wanted to return the favor. Her hands slid over his back, his shoulders, clutching hard whenever he sucked at her nipples. And now her hand slid down, trailing down his abs, finding the bulge in his pants. She could tell he wasn't wearing anything under the pajamas. He groaned aloud when she touched him, and swore again when she palmed him, cupping his manhood as he'd cupped her breasts.

"Melinda," he hissed, and she took the opportunity to take control, pushing him onto his back, sliding off her panties. He made short work of the pajama pants, and then she was easing onto him, astride. She looked down at him, feeling like she'd hit some sort of nirvana, because the feel of Jim inside her, hard and ready, was more than she could take. And when she started to move, rocking her hips back and forth, she felt like cursing all over again from how good this felt.

And when she looked down, met his gaze, saw the way his eyes were glazed in pleasure, it only increased her high. His hands clamped on her thighs, urging her faster, as his hips jerked up to meet her. Just as he was about to come, he flipped them again, pulling out, and Melinda suddenly felt unsure as he took his time resettling them. Had he not wanted to come inside her?

He saw her face, and he knew her so well, even now. He leaned up, kissing her deeply. "You come first," he whispered in her ear after a long, lingering kiss, and she gasped to feel his fingers inside of her. She was already primed, already so wet, and he knew her body so well that she was a mess before he'd even made her come. His fingers worked in and out, and Melinda cried his name, once, twice, three times. She came back to the moment, dazed, sated, and sleepy, but she could see Jim poised above her, as if waiting, and she raised her hips.

He slid inside her, and he was bracing his body above hers, and she clutched at his shoulders, as he slammed into her, again and again. "Jim," she whispered, holding on by a thread. "I want you to finish inside me."

However much he'd been holding back, she could feel the difference when he let go. His hips moved rapidly, and she couldn't breathe as he pumped in and out. "Jim," she panted, and he came, hissing her name.

"Melinda, Melinda, fuck, Mel."

She could feel him pouring into her, spilling over, and she wound her legs around his waist, holding tight as he gave in, falling onto her. His arms wound beneath her, holding her close, and his face was in her shoulder, kissing her neck over and over, and still whispering her name. "Mel," he repeated, as if it was a charm.

"Jim," she replied. "Kiss me."

And he did.

* * *

They went again, after thirty minutes of cuddling, and then again, an hour later. She expected him to be tired, expected him to want to sleep, but he seemed just as desperate to touch her, to feel her the subsequent times.

"I love you," he whispered into the dark, and she said the words back, the lump in her throat making it hard, but definitely not impossible.

And now they lay there in the dark, his fingers tracing over her belly. She lay on his arm, her face snuggled against his chest, her hand resting on his heart.

"I love you," he repeated, his hand coming to rest on hers. He again brought it to his lips, kissed it.

She gazed up at him, wondering what the morning would bring. She was almost afraid to sleep. She didn't want to end this moment, and she didn't want to risk this feeling, this closeness. She was terrified that she'd wake and nothing would have changed.

"Are you on something right now?" He finally asked, and she was brought back to reality.

"Like birth control?" She asked, startled.

"Well, we didn't use a condom," he said. "Any of the, you know, three times."

She smiled in spite of herself, and she knew he could tell. "I'm not," she said. "Um. Are we worried about that?"

He looked at her, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I've never been worried about that, but Mel, I don't want us to think that a child would fix something. If it's not the best timing, we can get the morning after pill. I would never want you to be in this situation unless it's wanted. And I'm sorry for losing myself in the moment."

"Don't apologize for that," she said. "Don't ever apologize for tonight. And I know that right now might not be the best timing, but if it happens, it happens. I don't want to do anything to change what happened tonight. Let's leave it up to the universe."

"I just don't want to let us be distracted from each other," he said. "I want to be able to take in this moment, be mindful. I want to fix us. I don't want to change us."

"I know," she said, and leaned up to kiss him. She breathed in his musk, let the moment sink in. "If we created something tonight, as proof of our renewal, then I think we should let it be. And I want to see what happens with us, as well as with our potential something."

"I love you," he whispered, and now he was the one to capture her lips in a kiss. "I love you so much."

"I'm afraid of one thing," she admitted. "Jim. Please let this feeling last. I-I'm afraid to sleep because what if we don't know how to talk to each other in the morning? What if we lose this feeling?"

He pulled her closer, both arms wrapped around her. "I was scared too," he said. "But I'm not now. We aren't going to let it go back to that. We're going to talk it through. We're going to fight. We're going to work it out. But we aren't going to stop talking. I promise."

"Me too," she said, hand over his heart. "I promise I won't stop talking to you."

"Then that's all there is to it," he said. "We can sleep without fear now."

She felt weariness tugging at her eyelids, and she nodded. They were both asleep within minutes, peace in their hearts.


	5. Chapter 5

Look at how my tears ricochet - Taylor Swift

* * *

When Melinda woke up, Jim wasn't in bed. She sat up, feeling disoriented, feeling almost like she'd dreamed the night before. She was still nude, and she picked up the shirt from last night, sliding it back over her head.

She knew she hadn't dreamed it, but that wasn't a guarantee that Jim meant what he said. No. That was the wrong way to put it. She knew Jim wouldn't say something he didn't mean, but it was easy to make promises at night.

It was even easier to break them once the cold light of morning made them look naive and foolish.

Had she really thought it would be this easy?

She padded down the hall to the guest room, her heart sick. If he was inside...she didn't know what she'd say. She didn't know that there would be anything left to say.

But the door was wide open, and the bed was empty. Melinda didn't know what to do, so she went back to her bedroom and into the bathroom, switching the water on to heat up as she brushed her teeth.

"Hey."

She looked up, and Jim was in the doorway.

"No fair," he said. "You're showering without me."

"I didn't know where you were," she said, and her voice broke. Jim's face softened, and he strode to her side in two long steps, wrapping her tight in his arms.

"I would tell you what I was doing, but that would spoil the surprise," he whispered, cupping her face in both hands, and placing a kiss on her lips. "But let's shower, and then we can find out?"

"That sounds good," she whispered.

* * *

Showering with Jim felt like going back to being 24 years old, and dumb in love. She pressed her body against his, the water making them slick. She just wanted to be closer. His hands were all over her, touching every piece of her, and she closed her eyes against the spray of the water. Jim lathered her body with soap before tenderl y washing her clean, and Melinda stepped from the shower feeling like a different woman.

She loved him. She stood there, looking at herself in the mirror. Jim came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and buried his face in her shoulder. She looked at the pair they made in the mirror, and how soft her face looked right now; what a sensual picture they made. She felt her stomach fluttering, as it had used to in the early years.

She loved him.

She turned around in his arms, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

Jim slowly pulled away, blinking down at her. "I would love to take you back to bed but then my surprise would be ruined," he said, smacking her ass lightly, and groaning. "God, now I really want to stay up here."

"What's the surprise?" She asked, and he shook his head.

"Dry off and find out," he said, stepping out of the bathroom. She rolled her eyes and followed.

* * *

By the time they made it downstairs, kissing each other the whole way, Melinda was dressed for the day in a light summer dress. She figured she and Jim could go to the farmers market, walk around town or something. His arm was snug around her waist, though they were only walking to the kitchen, and Melinda leaned into him.

When she saw what was on the table, her eyes widened. A bouquet of fresh flowers, a bowlful of whipped cream, cut strawberries, syrup, softened butter. There was a gentle, cinnamon smell in the air, and Jim, pressing a kiss to her forehead, separated from her, grabbing an oven mitt.

He pulled a tray from the oven, and she gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth.

"French toast," he said, looking at her closely. "I baked it, so that the surprise wouldn't be ruined."

"Oh my god, Jim," she said, tears overflowing in her eyes. "Jim," she repeated, the word ending in a sob, reaching her arms out to him.

She felt like her heart was breaking, but in an entirely different way. She felt like an outer layer that had been squeezing her heart together these past few horrible months had shattered, and her heart was finally working again. She felt like he'd finally penetrated all of the walls she'd put back up. She felt like things would actually work.

He put the toast down, meeting her embrace in two easy steps, and wrapping her up in his arms.

"I love you, Mel," he whispered, his voice near her ear. "And I'm so sorry for forgetting that, and for being so goddamn stubborn and mean. That look in your eyes just now, I haven't seen it in years, and fuck, Mel." His hand cradled her head, and he was holding her so tightly Melinda could hardly breathe, but she didn't want to.

She leaned up, standing on her tallest tiptoes, pressing tiny kisses to his mouth, his chin, anything she could reach, over and over until he wrapped his arms around her waist and swung her off the floor, kissing her so deeply she forgot where she was.

And this was what she'd been missing, this was what was going to make them whole again. This closeness, this intention.

She wrapped her arms back around his neck, and when he finally let her down, they sat at the table ánd ate french toast with whipped cream.

Melinda couldn't remember ever being happier than in that moment.

The weekend would end. Aiden would return, and he'd return to parents who smiled at each other, and kissed again. He would remember that moment for the rest of his life, the day that he came home and his parents loved each other again.

Melinda would go back to work. She'd spend time chasing ghosts, but she started to put more limits on it. Previously, she'd go out all hours of the night, but since Jim had more control over his schedule now, they both made a pact: no more working nights.

Every night, they came home, shared their days, and were just together. Sometimes they fought. Sometimes they didn't know what to say. They went to counseling when it got hard again.

But Melinda knew that no matter what, she'd never feel as awful as she had then. She knew that they'd beaten death, and now they'd beaten something even more awful-indifference, and anger, and coldness.

In those moments, when they were struggling, Melinda would take his hand in hers, look up at him, and their gazes would lock. And somehow, things weren't as bad then.

They were going to make it after all.

* * *

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy late birthday, Mariah <3 Love you so much ~Meowser


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